Kulti(3)

He scored the most beautiful, ruthless goal in the top right corner of the net. The ball seemed to sail through the air with a one-way ticket to the record books.

My dad screamed. Eric yelled. The freaking stadium and the announcers lost it. This guy who had never played on such a platform had done what no one expected of him.

It was one of those moments that lifts a person’s spirit up. Sure, it wasn’t you that did anything special, but it made you feel like you had. It gave you the impression that you could do anything because this other person did.

It reminded you that anything was possible.

I know that I stood there screaming right along with my dad because he was yelling and it seemed the most appropriate thing to do. But mostly, I know I thought that this Kulti, this number eight on the German national team who looked barely old enough to drive, was the most amazing player in the world that year.

To do what no one believed you could do…

Jesus. Now, as an adult, I can look back and understand why he had such an effect on me. It makes total sense. People still talk about that goal when they bring up the best moments in Altus Cup history.

What was the turning point when I decided to follow this dream of turf, two goals, and a single, checkered white and black ball? That moment. That goal changed everything. It was the moment I decided I wanted to be like that guy—the hero.

I dedicated my life, my time and my body to the sport all because of the player I would grow to follow and support and love with all my little heart, my patron saint of soccer—Reiner Kulti. For him, it was the moment that changed his career. He became Germany’s savior, their star. Over the next twenty years of his career, he became the best, the most popular and the most hated.

Then there was the whole, I-had-posters-of-him-all-over-my-walls until I was seventeen, and the whole me-telling-everyone-I-was-going-to-marry-him thing.

Before the posters and the marriage announcements, there had been the letters I remembered writing him as a kid. ‘I’m your #1 fan,’ written on construction paper with markers and crayons. They never got a response.

But I kept that crap to myself.

Plus, it had been ten years since I’d torn down the posters in a fit of rage, when the man who had grown to become known as Reiner ‘The King’ Kulti by his fans for being one of the most explosive and creative players in the sport, got married.

I mean, hadn’t he known we were supposed to get married and have soccer-playing-super-babies together? That he was supposed to sit next to me on an airplane one day and instantly fall in love with me? Yeah, apparently he hadn’t gotten the memo, and he married some actress with boobs that seemed to defy gravity.

And then less than a year later, he did other things that I couldn’t forgive.

Gardner had no idea about any of this.



* * *



I sat up straight in the chair across from the same head coach I’d been working with for the last four years and shrugged. Why was I looking like that? Like I wasn’t excited at all? “G, you know what happened between him and my brother, right?”

At that point, I guess I was expecting him to not know, because he’d been way too excited to tell me about Reiner Kulti getting hired.

But Gardner nodded and shrugged, his face still a canvas of confusion. “Of course I know. That’s why you’re the perfect person to do this conference, Sal. Besides Jenny and Grace, you’re the most well-known and well-liked player on the team. What do they call you, ‘the home-state sweetheart?’”

Home-state sweetheart. Gross. It made me feel like I was back in high school running for homecoming queen instead of the kid that skipped every homecoming because she usually had a game.

“Kulti broke—“

“I know what he did. PR already brought up what happened with Kulti and Eric during our meeting last night when they told us he was hired. No one wants this season to be a soap opera. You going on camera and smiling and giving everyone that Sal-smile is exactly what the team needs. This isn’t a big deal, and everyone needs to get on board so that the focus is on the team and not drama from years ago. It’ll be ten, maybe twenty minutes, maximum. You, me and him. You’ll answer a few questions and that’s it. I won’t put you through this again, I swear.”

My initial thought was simple: this was all Eric’s tibia and fibula’s fault.

I wanted to bang my head against the desk that separated me from Gardner, but I managed not to. Instead, dread pooled a bloody lake in my belly. It made me cramp, and I had to press a hand over it like that would help ease my suffering. Then I sighed again and accepted the reality behind Gardner’s words.